The dust was breathed in by thousands upon thousands of people, and power yet lingered in it, for when enough people had taken the dust into them, their collective hopes, and desires, and fears became manifest. So the gods of the Mystery Cults were born. . . .
There was a sharp but distant sound, like a far‑off gunshot.
“Travis!”
Only when pain crackled through his jaw did he realize Vani had slapped him.
He staggered back. “What was that for?”
“You did not respond to my words. You must guard yourself in this place. It is said the air of the Morgolthi is strangely sweet to a sorcerer, that it can intoxicate him like wine.”
“But I’m not a–”
Travis clenched his jaw shut as she gave him a piercing look. He tried to breathe more shallowly and not to think of the powdery traces of blood that must still swirl on the air in this place. “The sorcerer must have brought Nim here. Once it’s been opened, a gate has only one exit. That means we can’t be more than a few minutes behind them. Did you see their footprints from up there?”
“A few minutes is all the wind needs to scour the sand clear. We will not be able to track them that way.”
“So what do we do?”
“The sorcerer will go north, toward human habitation and water. It is his only choice to survive, and ours. We must do the same.”
“Great,” Travis said. “And which way exactly is north?” He turned around. Sand dunes undulated away from them in every direction.
Vani looked up at the sky. Sweat slicked her coppery skin, and she had unbuttoned the top of her leather jerkin. “The sun has risen in the time since we came through the gate. East lies in that direction, so this way is north. We must hope we are not far from a settlement. Come.”
She started along the trough between two dunes, keeping close to the lee side of the dune on their left, out of the worst of the wind. However, they were soon forced to abandon the path when it veered east, and instead they struggled up the windward side of a dune. Sand hissed through the air and made Travis think of the bodiless spirits of the morndari. They could pass through solid matter, and the sand seemed able to do the same. It dug into any bit of exposed skin, stung their eyes, filtered through their clothing, and worked its way deep into their ears and noses.
The sun ascended to the zenith, and heat radiated from the sand in waves. Travis sweated in his jeans and sweater–chosen for a misty London evening, not a blazing desert day–but he did not even think of shedding them, as they were his only protection from the wind and sun.
He and Vani did not speak. They kept their mouths clamped shut, breathing through their noses, trying to keep out the sand and conserve the moisture in their breath. Each time they crested a dune, Vani scanned the horizon, and Travis knew what she was looking for: the green smudge of an oasis and the white shapes of human habitations. All they saw were more dunes.
You really are an idiot, Travis told himself as he trudged after Vani. We don’t have food or water. We’re completely unprepared for this. You should have thought about what you were doing.
Only there hadn’t been time to think. He had leaped for the gate, not knowing what he was going to do on the other side, only knowing that jumping through that portal was his only chance to save Nim. He hadn’t expected Vani to follow, but he was grateful she had. He doubted he would survive five minutes in this desert without her.
Wouldn’t you, Travis?a dry voice spoke in his mind. It wasn’t Jack’s voice; it was his own. Only it was more sibilant, a coaxing hiss, like that of a serpent. Vani is right. You’re a sorcerer. And this land is their home. All you have to do is spill your blood–just a few drops–and they will come to you and do your bidding. The spirits. Those Who Thirst . . .
Only when he felt pain did he realize his fingernails were pressing into the skin of his forearm. He willed his hand away and instead thought about Beltan. It was possible he would never see the blond man again. But Beltan would have done the same in Travis’s place. He would have gone through the gate after Nim. How could he not? She was his daughter. Their daughter.
All the same, sorrow scoured at Travis’s heart. What was Beltan doing right now?
He’s trying to find a way to follow you, Travis. You know he is. He won’t let you go.
Three years ago, everything had seemed so muddled and confusing. His emotions had been a labyrinth, and he had stumbled through the maze, not knowing who–if anyone–waited for him at its end. Even during these last years in London, as happy as he had been, he had sometimes wondered if things might not have been different had she not left them. Then she stepped through the door of his and Beltan’s flat, and in that moment his wondering ceased.
Vani did not love him.
She hadloved him once, that much Travis did not doubt. He had held her in his arms, he had felt her body trembling, he had kissed her. And in those moments he had loved her back. However, he knew now their love had been a trick–one every bit as cruel as the ruse the Little People had played on Vani and Beltan. Only this was not a trick of fairies.
It was a trick of Fate.
Vani had loved Travis because she believed it was her destiny to love him; she had willed her love into being in an act of sheer faith. And he had loved her back because, confronted with such a ferocity of emotion, his only choice was either to drive her away or bring her close. He couldn’t cast her away, not when she needed love–real love–so badly and didn’t even know it.
However, while the T’hotcards spoke the truth, as so often happened when trying to interpret Fate, that truth misled her. The cards had said she was destined to bear a child byTravis, but not tohim, and that destiny had come to pass when she gave birth to Nim. Yet perhaps Fate was not so cruel after all, because in the end Vani had indeed found love–a love that was true, not based on any trick or deceit.
Her love for Nim.
Travis had seen it shining in Vani’s eyes when she held her daughter. And he saw it now in the hard set of her jaw as she marched up and down the endless dunes. He quickened his pace–
–and nearly ran into Vani, who had come to a halt atop a dune.
“I see something.” She was looking, not ahead, but off to their left.
“What is it?” He tried to follow her gaze, but the sand made his eyes water. “Is it a settlement?”
Vani squinted. “I’m not certain. It is difficult to see. Perhaps it is–blessed Mother of Orъ!”
Travis screened his eyes with his fingers. There, on the horizon, a red‑brown wall rose into the sky. Was it the mud wall of a city?
No. The wall rose higher into the sky, sending out swirling tendrils toward the sun.
“This is ill fate,” Vani said. “It is a blood tempest.”
“What’s a blood tempest?” Travis said, raising his voice over the howl of the wind.
“A storm that blows out of the heart of the Morgolthi. To be caught in one is certain death. We must run. Now!”
Vani grabbed his arm, pulling him down the lee side of the dune. He lost his footing on the slick sand and went tumbling down the slope. At the bottom he rolled to a stop, then pushed himself up to his knees, spitting out a mouthful of sand.